The House of Me is awaiting the word to see whether or not we should officially be under quarantine. Mike fears he has swine flu. With flaming angry pink eye, cough wheezing and general shittiness, he of course believes he is on his death bed.

I am the only relatively healthy one at the moment, *touch fake MDF wood looking product* which doesn’t bode well for my sanity. Kids are on the mend but Hudson is still teething and Carter… is… well… Carter. Man that kid is high strung happy and moody active. He’s so much like his father I fear for his future partner just love him so much.

Mike called form work yesterday about a billion times to tell me he thought he had pink eye. His eye was oozing and crusty and red. Tell tales signs of the conjunctivitis. And that there my friends, is ALL kindsa hotness. I told him that he likely has pink eye and to stop touching it. When he came home he quickly pulled me aside, out of view of the kids and pulled off his sunglasses to show me a flaming red, angry, pussy* eye leaking and definitely oozing. Pink. Eye.

Eating lunch? Dammit, I always do that!

Afraid of possibly scarring Carter for life he refused to take his glasses off in front of the kid which prompted a million questions asking why daddy was wearing his sunglasses in the house. Mike thought that rather than telling him that his eye hurt and leave it at that, it would be better to concoct this story about how it’s too bright and he needs his glasses to see. Which, I HATE. Why the fuck make up a story when you can just give a very simple dumbed down version of the truth.

That’s how I deal with Mike most days. You think he would have caught on by now?

I immediately corrected him because Carter doesn’t need to have these dumbass stories created for his benefit.

Unless it’s about Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy or unicorns because those? Those are awesome magical beings – like Hobbits – and children need to have a little magic in their lives, not stupid stories about how it’s too bright in the house and Daddy needs to have on his sunglasses. I’ll bet if I let him keep going he would have begun singing some Corey Hart and we don’t need that shit at the dinner table, people.

Mike hemmed and hawed through dinner about whether or not he should have his eye looked at. Buddy wouldn’t even take off his figgin’ sunglasses for fear of scaring the ever loving crap out of his four year old, but thought it was well enough not to warrant a visit to the doctor? BRILLIANT.

I convinced him that Yes, his eye must be looked at; so he begrudgingly went to the doctor and after an hour called me to say that this old geezer doctor at the walk-in clinic passed by his room twice to see other patients. Then, when he finally saw the guy, he was told that he had strep throat. Mike continued ranting that he was never going to that fuckin’ clinic again because the geezer doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Apparently the doctor didn’t even look at his eye and only swabbed for strep but, people. You didn’t need to get up close to that thing to see that it’s badly diseased. Fuck, I could tell as he was walking up the driveway.

Eventually I had to cut him off to ask if it was possible that he did indeed have strep because he did sleep most of the weekend; and when he wasn’t sleeping, he was complain about being tired having a sore throat.

His answer? Ya, I guess.

The doctor deduced he had pink eye IN CONJUNCTION with strep throat.

NIICE.

So he did what any sane person with a swollen eye full of infectious disease AND possible strep throat would do – he went to WORK. (He sits in a crane all day long alone, he’s not worried about spreading it. *rolleyes*) About forty minutes ago he called me to see if he should go to the doctor to see if he has swine flu.

Apparently we’ve gone from denial to self-medicating.

I just don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s my fault and I had sharted on his pillow.

Now? My eyes? They’re itchy.

But I don’t have pink eye.

I don’t have pink eye.

I don’t have pink eye.

I don’t have pink eye.

Please, don’t let me have pink eye.

I just haven’t had enough coffee today. That’s it. Coffee. I need coffee.

________________________________

*Who knew there wasn’t a pural to pus and that it wasn’t pussy. I was writing at work and had to hurry since lunch time recess was coming to a close. Pussy suits him so it stays.